THE STORY – When Niall’s estranged ‘brother’ Ruben shows up at his wedding, it leads to an explosion of violence that catapults us back through their lives, from the eighties to the present day.
THE CAST – Richard Gadd, Jamie Bell, Stuart Campbell, Mitchell Robertson & Neve McIntosh
THE TEAM – Richard Gadd (Creator/Showrunner/Writer)
There is a specific, agonizing weight to the relationships that define our youth; those bonds forged not by blood, but by the shared heat of survival. In HBO’s harrowing six-part limited series “Half Man,” creator Richard Gadd explores this weight with the same unflinching, surgical precision he brought to “Baby Reindeer“. It is a sprawling, thirty-year excavation of two broken men, Niall and Ruben, whose lives are so inextricably tangled that even when they are apart, they are merely ghosts haunting one another’s progress.
The series opens with a jarring juxtaposition of jubilation and dread. We begin at a wedding in Scotland, all swirling kilts and rhythmic dancing, before the edit cuts like a blade to a confrontation in a quiet barn. Here, we meet our adult protagonists: Niall (Jamie Bell), a man vibrating with a deep, systemic anxiety, and Ruben (Richard Gadd), a looming presence whose very breath sounds animalistic – a predator on the hunt. Ruben is shirtless, his hands wrapped like a prize fighter’s, demanding that Niall acknowledge their bond before he is lost to marriage. When the violence inevitably explodes, it serves as a catalyst, catapulting us back to the 1980s to witness the genesis of this volatile alchemy.
“Half Man” is a profound study of the illness of masculinity. We see it take root in their school days, where young Niall (Mitchell Robertson) is the target of homophobic vitriol. When Ruben (Stuart Campbell) enters the frame – two years older, fresh from a young offenders institute – he becomes Niall’s protector, his armor, and his jailer. The tragedy of this bond is perhaps best captured by a gift of boxing gloves that Ruben gives Niall. It’s a gesture that frames love as preparation for combat. For Ruben, family is the only thing that matters, but his version of protection is an invitation into the very violence that haunts him.
The nomenclature Gadd uses here is striking and intentional. Just as Gadd’s previous protagonist was “Baby Reindeer,” Ruben christens Niall “Bambi.” In both works, these diminutive, animalistic nicknames are used to distill a complex power dynamic. By branding Niall as “Bambi,” Ruben isn’t just giving him a nickname; he is marking his territory. It mirrors the “Baby Reindeer” moniker by turning a term of endearment into a leash.
Just as brilliantly as the series explores the relationship between these two men, it deconstructs how internalized homophobia acts as a slow-acting poison. Niall’s journey into adulthood is defined by a performer’s existence, hiding his sexuality from the shadow of Ruben. There is a tragic irony in their dynamic: Ruben, despite his own traumas inherited from an abusive father, creates a space in which Niall feels he must embody a specific brand of manliness to be worthy of respect. We eventually learn that Ruben’s obsession with this armor of muscle stems from his own feeling of being “half a man” – a result of trauma that has left him feeling less than.
The performances across both timelines are outstanding, creating a seamless emotional bridge across thirty years. Robertson and Campbell carry the first half of the series and create an understanding for the audience of exactly how these boys became these men. Robertson’s nervous vulnerability and Campbell’s simmering, protective rage set the stage for the devastation to come. When the torch passes to the adult leads, Bell captures the soul-crushing exhaustion of a man who has spent decades living a lie, while Gadd is transformative in the role of Ruben. Gadd’s voice is so deep that it makes his laughter feel like a threat, yet he manages to let the man beneath the muscle peek through, one who harbors a profound sense of inadequacy and a pride that breaks into violence the moment it is grazed.
“Half Man” doesn’t offer any kind of clean reconciliation. It seeps powerful tension in almost every frame, using slow-motion sequences and a haunting score to show how this relationship makes time stand still. The psychological weight of the series culminates at the altar, where Niall, even in a moment of supposed joy, can’t say “I do” without looking to Ruben for a silent nod of approval. It is a devastating image of a man who has achieved his freedom but remains trapped.
Niall comes to learn a painful lesson: that the most formidable homophobe in his life was himself, and that Ruben’s shadow was only as suffocating as Niall allowed it to be. “Half Man” is a journey of acceptance that arrives at a staggering cost. It suggests that while we can outrun our past, we can rarely outrun the version of ourselves we created to survive it.
Gadd and Bell have crafted a portrait of masculinity that is a must-watch, no matter how bruising it is. The series is a masterful portrait of male violence, wrapped in one of the most complex love stories put to screen. It proves once again that Gadd is one of the most vital, empathetic, and ferocious writers working today.
THE GOOD – A masterful, unflinching dissection of masculinity, elevated by transformative performances and a haunting, animalistic tension that makes the 30-year journey of Niall and Ruben one of the most complex dynamics on TV right now.
THE BAD – The first half of the series, which follows Niall and Ruben in their youth, is more interesting, as we see the characters grow into the men they become.
THE EMMY PROSPECTS – Outstanding Limited or Anthology Series, Outstanding Actor in a Limited or Anthology Series or Movie, Outstanding Supporting Actor In a Limited or Anthology Series or Movie, Outstanding Writing for a Limited or Anthology Series or Movie & Outstanding Directing for a Limited or Anthology Series
THE FINAL SCORE – 8/10
